Page 36 of All the Beautiful Things
His voice trailed off. He looked like a dead man walking. Had the look of a man ravaged by loss and fear.
Despite my own war in my chest, I settled my hand on his chest, where his heart thumped wildly.
“Tonight,” I said. He bent his head down and the strong line of his shoulders fell. “I’m here for you, Hudson. Through all of this. Your dad is strong and his prognosis good.”
“Good.” His lips twisted into a sneer. “There is no good when it comes to cancer.”
“I know. But thinking positive will help him.”
A muscle along the side of his nose twitched. He opened his mouth like he was ready to argue but then clamped it shut. “Come with me.”
He lifted his hand, palm up. My hand at his chest fell to his and he walked us toward his bedroom.
Right to where a week ago, I’d given my body to him. I’d given my heart to him so much earlier than that. Memories of our night together danced in my memory banks, the sounds of our bodies joining, the feel of him pressing into me that first, glorious time while he held me so tenderly. Like I was breakable. That night had been perfect. Only to have the illusion shattered in the morning.
I froze at the edge of his bed, covers thrown up and made, but messily, like he usually did it. A half-hearted attempt at best.
So far vastly different from the cleanliness required of me at home, and then the preciseness required in prison.
But there was comfort in a gentle mess. The freedom to live how you wanted. Something I was still trying to find, despite my fighting for it.
Such a simple, silly thing that messy beds made me think of. I shook my head and turned to Hudson. He was watching me, eyes glazed.
“Would you like to use the restroom first?” I asked.
“No. You can.” He slid around me to his dresser, went to the third drawer down and pulled out a University of Iowa T-shirt. Gray and faded, it was well worn and soft, with the lettering and Hawkeye logo stamped across the chest but even that was beginning to fade after so many years of use. I took it from him and ducked into the bathroom.
There, I made quick work of brushing my teeth, splashed my face with soap and water and cringed at the dry feel of my skin afterward. But the makeup and memories from the day had to go.
Once I was dressed in the shirt he gave me and my own folded in my arms, I stepped out of the bedroom and set my items on his dresser. Hudson was at the windows of his room staring out into the inky night, hands at his hips, wearing only gray athletic shorts and his muscles.
“My dad has cancer.”
He said the words like he was trying them out, and I hated how wrong they sounded.
“I know.” I doubted he was looking for another reminder of his prognosis or the positive outlook jargon so instead, I allowed him his time to let the truths he spoke settle in his mind.
While he looked at the nothingness through his bedroom window, I scooted around the edge of the bed and his body at the window and slid onto the side I’d slept on last time. The covers were warm, immediately enveloping me in the heady scent of Hudson’s minty shampoo mixed with cologne. I breathed it in, the scent certainly made to release relaxation pheromones.
Perhaps it was his bed, the firmness of it so much more high quality than anything I’d ever slept on including my own bed downstairs.
I rolled to my side, facing the windows and where Hudson still stood, unmoving.
“Come to bed. Your fears and worries will still be there in the morning.”
“What a fucking horrid thought,” he said and glanced at me.
I winced, realizing how that sounded. “Sorry, I didn’t mean.”
“I know what you meant.” He came to me then, arms now loose at his sides and he sat down on the bed and turned, his hips at the bend in my legs, draping an arm over my side until he was half-leaning over me.
He was so close, so comfortable and familiar with my body. I inhaled a quick breath as he leaned in closer and brushed his thumb over my cheek. “Thank you. I know I said it earlier, but I’m glad you were there tonight. I know you came for David, because he asked, but I am glad you were there, and even more so that you’re willing to be here.”
I was speechless. I’d often seen Hudson confident, edging on arrogance, and I’d seen him sarcastic and kind and tender and sad. Over the last two months, I’d seen a wide variety of emotions this man could shed like a second skin.
But this softness? This understanding?
I shivered beneath the blanket from the intensity of it. And a part of me, a very large part of me wanted to push up to my elbows and press my lips to his, to kiss away the pain between us, my lingering mistrust and hardened walls and Hudson’s pain and fear of what was to come.
